


The Scientist, the Socialite, and the Soldier

by FreezePride



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen, Other, Steampunk, Victorian, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-12-30 20:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18321953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreezePride/pseuds/FreezePride
Summary: There is a mystery living in London.Three unlikely allies who have much more woven beneath the surface of their guarded exteriors. Much like the accessories that they sport, they are far more than meets the eye. Vexen, Zexion and Lexaeus. When I began this article, I knew only a handful of facts about each. Now, as I sit down to write the entirety of this story, I found myself dumbfounded by what the last few weeks have revealed. It’s their fashion that originally caught the attention of our humble publication, but reader, believe me when I say that it is their story that will leave you breathless.





	The Scientist, the Socialite, and the Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> This is the piece that I created for the Organization XIII Fashion Zine. It was an honor to participate in a fan-publication filled with beautiful artwork, masterful writing and wonderfully creative people. Thank you so much for having me!
> 
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/orgxiiizine?lang=en  
> Tumblr: https://orgxiiizine.tumblr.com/

There is a mystery living in London.

 

Three unlikely allies who have much more woven beneath the surface of their guarded exteriors. Much like the accessories that they sport, they are far more than meets the eye. Vexen, Zexion and Lexaeus. When I began this article, I knew only a handful of facts about each. Now, as I sit down to write the entirety of this story, I found myself dumbfounded by what the last few weeks have revealed. It’s their fashion that originally caught the attention of our humble publication, but reader, believe me when I say that it is their story that will leave you breathless.

 

\----- The Scientist -----

 

“Don’t touch anything.”

 

Doctor Vexen, Master Apprentice to the Great Lord Ansem and the Official Alchemical Advisor to Her Royal Majesty, speaks like this to everyone (or so I have been warned). His tone can be colder and sharper than the claws of Spring Heeled Jack. This isn’t to say that he is ever short of words, but only if there is one particular subject in question.

 

“Science is life.” He explained, unrushed and precise as he led the way pushing his pristinely clean round glasses up the bridge of his thin nose. “Please, hurry now. It would be best not to get lost within the labs. Follow me.” I’ve learned over these past few days that there is a perpetual hint of annoyance to his crisp, cool voice. I get the vague impression that he simply does not have time to deal with anything that is not associated with his precious ‘science’. And, I can agree with him on that. After a few days of wandering about, spying on his creations, the amount of different experiments he is overseeing for the royal society is staggering. One has to wonder where he finds the time to get a bit of rest, or take a meal. When asked, he grumbles that he never had much patience for ‘sleep’ or ‘food’, or many other human limitations, but I can’t help but get the vague impression that he isn’t telling me the entire truth.

 

There’s a good deal about Doctor Vexen that he refuses to answer. When prompted to speak about his past, or his connections, he becomes woefully distracted. When asked about his newest discoveries, he will prattle on for hours upon hours. Coincidence? I think not. Convenience? _Absolutely_. He thinks a beautiful, young, ambitious journalist like myself won’t notice? Think again, my good sir.

 

There is certainly passion in those brilliant green eyes. He’d scoff at me if I were to call it a interest in something as frivolous as ‘fashion’, but he has begun to dabble in the creation of garments these past few years and his influence has not gone unnoticed. If anything, the growing intrigue around his snappy, popular inventions have garnered more funds and attention than he would ever openly admit to.

 

“This isn’t about influence, or power. This is about progress.” He explained to me as he pinned a broach to the lapel of my jacket. The sudden, close contact has brought to attention the sharp edges of his jawline, the unerring focus of his bright green eyes. There’s nothing personal about the action, everything seemed to be clinical, precise, inhumanly perfect. 

 

Yet there is a gentle quality to the way he sets the device into motion, to the subtle beat of pride that runs between the two of us as the small flower bud on the broach clicks like the beat of a heart and its brass petals part slowly to reveal a small, polished quartz. It’s a mechanical marvel, a masterpiece in its own right, and it’s one a few hundred that he has set out on the table before us. Brooches, pins, jewelry, gloves, ascots, a huge variety of different garments, all perfectly tailored, all adorned with something just the slightest bit of extra flair. Whether it was metal armored underpinnings, secret buttons, hidden pockets and a certain air of mystery, these ordinary looking objects were anything but what they seemed to be. 

 

They all moved and reacted according to the wearer’s will. He pointed out several different jeweled pins in the shape of dragonflies and bumble bees. “I made them for Zexion.” He sighed. “They’re rather gaudy, if I must admit.” I was too enraptured with the beauty of their gleaming brass parts before I realized that they were twitching and moving behind their glass case. 

 

Taking this as the hint that I was still interested, he pointed to several more boxy looking accessories with far less gemstones, and a bit more heft. A long, simple cane, a policeman’s baton, an unassuming, glimmering pin. “They’re for our royal guard, Mister Lexaeus. Far more logical, and functional for that matter.” Upon closer inspection, I managed to catch what looked to me like a hidden button or panel on the downward facing side.

  
I had made the mistake of asking how they worked. Vexen’s eyes lit up as he got started on his explanation. I didn’t manage to leave for another three hours. As I said before, he is never short of words, given the correct subject.

 

\----- The Socialite -----

 

“You made the mistake of asking him _how_?” Mister Zexion asked, his visible eye widening as he asked me the question. “Oh, that answer is so damned complicated. I’m surprised that you even managed to leave at all that night. He would have chattered until morning, I think.” He continues with a charming smile.

 

Spending five minutes with Mister Zexion, I can believe how he rose so quickly to the attention to all the local salons. His quiet patience and measured tone had a calming effect that I just could not seem to place. It was as if his mere presence was disarming. It would be a damn shame not to mention how impeccably dressed he was. His finely tailored jacket hugged his slim waist, making his shoulders seem the tiniest bit broader in comparison. He sported a glimmering golden broach on his dark lapel. Everything from his cravat to the tips of his boots were colored in grays and blacks though, almost to emphasize the muted tones of his blue eye and pale face.   


Staying by his side and attending these events for the past few days has been half of the fun of writing this article. Being among the upper crust society and bumping elbows with the most educated minds of our age has been an honor which I readily accepted. Reader, I must admit that I have always been able to charm the right people when necessary with a gift of flowers or a well timed greeting, but Mister Zexion takes it one step further. He’s an artist when it comes to reading a room. He can gather attention in a matter of seconds and disperse it whenever he pleases. It’s jarring and somewhat terrifying from my point of view, but beautifully executed.

 

I manage to draw him aside one afternoon before we departed from his chamber. He happily seats himself across from me, that single eye locking on to both of mine as he gives me a knowing smile. He draws forth a long, brass pen from his breast pocket. Giving it an idle click, he watched as it trembled for a moment before folding out. The top plate slid from the pen and a long, brass dragonfly scampered from within. Another of Vexen’s masterful creations, I can safely assume.

 

“It’s dead useful.” Zexion admits, giving the small creature a nudge. The gears on its back snapped into motion and the dragonfly buzzed about the room with a hum of excitement. “Gets into places that normally a human cannot. It’s my airborne eyes and ears, if you will.” 

 

“Why would you need something like that, though?” I felt inclined to ask, the words slipping from my lips before my professionalism kicked in. To be so caught up with interest that I would forget my manners, how utterly humiliating.

 

“ _Why, indeed_.” Zexion said, a playful lilt to his tone. He leaned forward as if he were sharing a salacious secret. The intensity of that visible, blue eye took my breath away. “Why would a mere socialite need such a contraption? One does have to wonder…” 

 

And as quickly as he had captured my attention, Zexion let it go once again with a casual smile. He leaned back with a disarming shrug. “I suppose I’m just such a nosy lad, aren’t I? Always getting into trouble that I rightfully shouldn’t. I’m certain that Vexen has told you about that, hasn’t he…?” 

 

I’m a bit too preoccupied with the sudden change in tone to answer. Instead I gape openly at him and search around for words. 

 

“Oh dear, I’m surprised he wasn’t complaining about me most of the time you were there.” Zexion continues, unperturbed. As he’s speaking, I do remember Doctor Vexen having grumbled a bit about his own protégé. Something about him being far too preoccupied with ‘unsavory wastes of his valuable time’. I even recall him muttering of how the younger man was the ‘most brilliant and most distracted individual to ever exist’. 

 

“He gave you a bit of high praise with an icy bite.” I admitted finally.

 

“Is that so?” Zexion replies in singsong. He has already opened up a pamphlet, a common penny dreadful with the ghastly grimace of the Spring Heeled Jack on the front. He flips through the pages even as he speaks with me. Half of me thinks this is rather rude, but something about Zexion’s demeanor suggests that this is a simply an extension of him. Reading suits him as well as his jacket and cravat and pin, and who am I to argue with fashion?

 

“Vexen thinks I’m smarter than he is. He’s looking to push me into the sciences. But personally,” He trails, holding the frightful little book up before him to bring its gawdy cover to my attention. “I’m not certain I agree. Science is his domain, _not mine_.” He finishes with a playful smile that cannot cover the hint of sadness in his tone. “Lexaeus respects that decision. Vexen, I fear, never will.” 

 

I feel as if I should offer some sort of word of comfort, but before I can even try, Zexion has bounced back once again. “It’s getting rather late, don’t you think?” He takes a moment to glance at his brass pocket watch and I have the sudden, fleeting fantasy that it is about to open up into a mechanical butterfly. “Perhaps we should continue this conversation another time…” He trails with a handsome smile, leaving no room for question.

 

\----- The Soldier -----

 

“I apologize for the inconvenience.” Mister Lexaeus said as I approached him. For a moment, I clutch at my notebook and fountain pen, wondering what he could possibly be referring to. He reads the confusion on my face in a heartbeat. “That you must accompany me on my guard duties. It’s unseemly to force you to walk alongside me when you are trying to take notes. I apologize for that.” He explains in the same even, deep tone. “Work here never seems to end, so I must be diligent, for their sake.”

 

Who he’s talking about seems obvious, so I don’t bother asking. The closed doorway behind us trembles as Doctor Vexen shrieks a curse at whatever technological failure he’s dealing with.I’m too taken with Lexaeus’ current wardrobe to give half a damn at the moment. He stood, a head and shoulders taller than me, the uniform fitting his gargantuan frame with ease and elegance. Strong, brave, and vigilant, he’s the picture of perfection, the walking dream for any general to have as part of their armed forces. Gold threaded tassels hang from his shoulders and a handy set of goggles are perched up on his hat just for good measure (never know when you might need eye protection from Vexen’s creations).

 

There’s a handful that I know about the guard already, but nothing that he would have revealed to me upon asking. He’s a man of very few words, no matter how polite they tended to be. He grew up in a farm, came from a huge family, had been working in the military as soon as he was old enough to hold a weapon. But even despite this, there’s a sense of caution about the large man, bred from years and years of long and patient training. His gaze is hard and unflinching. With madmen and monsters roaming around on the streets, it’s no wonder he takes his job as seriously as he does. His boots thunk against the ground and my clacking heels follow after him, having to take two steps for every one of his. I always fancied myself rather tall, but I’m dwarfed by his height. That, of course, does not go unnoticed. He slows his pace, and I catch my breath before I begin asking questions.

 

“How long have you been a guard for?” I decided to start soft. He seems reluctant to speak of anything aside from niceties. 

 

“Long enough.” He rumbles. I’ve made a grave overstatement, it seems like he doesn’t want to speak _at all_.

 

“I can see you’ve won an award…” I gesture to the golden star on his chest, nodding for him to elaborate.

 

“I have.” He answers without hesitation. “But this isn’t it.” His stern expression eases and I get the sudden impression that he finds all of this quite funny. It suddenly dawns on me why this little award has drawn my attention. A small golden object? _Of course,_ it had to be a creation. Lexaeus reached up and gave the small golden metal two concise taps with his gloved fingertip. It unfolded, breaking in the center and curving outward so that the outside of the metal became the pristine back of small, golden beetle. It scuttled along his lapel, looking for a safe place to settle on.

 

Despite my hatred of insects and the havoc they can wreak on a rose garden, there is something to this little clockwork lad that melts even my heart. “Let me guess,” I begin, reaching out to the contraption to give it a fond pet but Lexaeus shakes his head. He holds his large hand out, palm facing up. He waits patiently as the little creature edges out onto the awaiting platform before lifting the beetle up for me to see.

 

From the top, it looks like a golden insect. From the side, I can almost see the gears ticking away beneath the metallic surface.

 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lexaeus says. For the first time that night, I spot a smile on the guard’s stern face. It feels so warm, so friendly that I’m certain that I knew this man all of my life. Or perhaps it’s just the way those deep, royal blue eyes are focused that make it seem that way.

 

Before I can even think of a reply, the bug begins to scream. 

 

Of course, that was just my first impression of the loud shriek that burst from its back panel as Lexaeus plucks up the small creature and clicks on it one more time. 

 

“He’s been spotted. Location X. Come QUICK.” A voice bursts out of the metal beetle, I swore it sounded just like Zexion, breathless and panicked. Lexaeus looks dumbfounded for a moment before he shakes the shock from his mind and takes my hand. 

 

“To the warehouses. Stay behind me. Make no noise.”

 

\----- The Enemy -----

 

It’s deathly quiet within the warehouses. Boxes upon boxes are stacked up to the ceiling and the smell of soggy, decayed wood overwhelms the senses. The warehouses are the very last place that this fashion journalist expected to be. Yet here I am, traipsing along in my heeled boots dressed in my finest rose colored jacket. I follow after the stoic guard who was acting on the orders of a miniscule golden beetle.

 

We spot a lone figure standing in a darkened corner, and for one frozen moment, Lexaeus muscles tense as if ready to attack, when the moonlight catches on a pair of pristine, round glasses on a long thin nose.

 

“Vexen?” My voice comes out in barely a whisper before Lexaeus can motion me into silence.

 

Vexen turns, and even in the dim lighting, I can see the panic in his thin features. A shadow leaps out from the surrounding darkness. I have no time to react, aside from gaping at its twisted, blackened limbs and unnaturally wide jaw, lined with razor sharp teeth. Lexaeus shoves me backwards, just in time to dodge a staggering swing from its lightning fast claws. I stumble, falling directly through a box of the East India’s finest saffron with a crash that sends up a spray of the expensive herb. Lexaeus takes the lead, pulling out a baton from his side holster. It’s dwarfed in comparison to the size of his hand, but that’s only until he clicks a latch on the side.

 

The baton bursts into motion, growing longer, larger in the blink of an eye, Lexaeus holds what looks to be a deadly mace, gold and silver to match the metallic thread in his military jacket. The shadow hisses and bends backward before leaping away. Of course, that’s not before a small projectile rockets out of the darkness and collides with its bent midsection. In a burst of yellow, orange light, it falls to the ground. It writhes, clawing at the wound which seems to be bleeding a ghastly dark cloud of inky blackness.

 

Zexion leaps down from one of the higher crates, landing with a flourish. He bows politely in my direction and, instinctively, I nod my head back to him as if this were some strange social gathering in the middle of the damned night in a decrepit warehouse. I have to admit, his ruffled cravat and smart waistcoat are well chosen for attending a dinner party, but not for fighting nightmare creatures. 

 

Glowing yellow eyes snapped to attention and I remember exactly where I am and what threats lie within the darkness. I gasp as that form leaps into the air, falling directly on the floor before me. It takes a deep, hissing breath.

 

Vexen lunges in front of me and the space before us ignites in an explosion of fire. I notice that Vexen brandishes what looks like a brass shield to cover us both. His thin arm trembles under the force of the blow, but the shield holds true. 

 

“Now!” Vexen shrieks, his voice tight with the strain of the attack before shoving the dark creature backwards, watching as it tumbled head over heels and crashed to the ground. 

 

In a breath of a moment, Lexaeus brought his mace down on the prone creature and Zexion flung a projectile in its direction, pinning it to the floor. An inhuman shriek erupts from what must have been its mouth as it arches and squirms, trying to get away from the onslaught of attacks raining down on its prone body. After a prolonged moment or two, the creature lay, broken and lifeless before bursting into dark tendrils of smoke and wafting off into the air. It disappeared before their eyes like a bad dream.

 

Silence falls around the four of us for a tense moment. Lexaeus and Zexion both were still poised for attack, the same stoic, determined look shared between them. Finally, as if sensing the need to break this oppressive moment, Vexen sighed and straightened from his battle-ready stance, massaging his forearm where it had come in contact with the shield when the fire had ignited. “Well, Gentlemen.” He began, the crispness of his voice mellowed by a hint of relief. “It seems we’ve won. Again.” He gave his shield a smart knock and I watched as the brass panels folded themselves over and over again until they were no larger than a pin (which he tucked neatly into his necktie). He finally dusted off his lab coat, popping the collar with a curt nod of affirmation.

 

“ _Finally_.” Zexion said, taking a small book from his sizable jacket pocket and depositing his gun within the pages, completely hiding it from view before tucking it away.

 

Lexaeus grunted in agreement, tapping on the side of his mace and watching with a hint of satisfaction as it folded into itself once again. He slid the device into its leather holster. I watched as the golden beetle shuffled along his lapel, trying to find the spot on his chest to shift it’s brass exterior become an unassuming military award. “You should not have seen that.” The guard remarked, his heavy brow creasing with concern as he crossed his thick arms and tilted his head. He was clearly thinking of what was to be done with me now.

 

“Oh, don’t be foolish. Who would believe a story about us defeating the dastardly Spring Heeled Jack?” Vexen waved his gloved hands as if wafting the thought from the air. “You’ll only be writing about the pretty accessories and the fashion and those stupid parties that Zexion insists on attending, right?” Vexen leans over to ask me. 

 

Despite his impeccable outfit, Zexion has already taken me by the hand and hoisted me back up to my feet. Lexaeus helps to dust a few remaining bits of saffron from my jacket and waistcoat, but Vexen’s piercing green eyes seem intent on pinning me down with an answer.

 

“No, of course not. Only cravats and pretty golden pins that turn into dragonflies. Your secret is safe with me.” I smile in what must have been an unconvincing way because Zexion’s visible eye narrows dangerously. 

 

“Quite, quite.” Vexen smiles in satisfaction, his spectacles flashing in the moonlight. “That’s a comfort to hear. Anyway, the Royal Society may be funding our operation, making it completely legal, but we should get going regardless. Things get rather...messy when the police arrive after a reported commotion.” Vexen is already making his way toward the door, and I catch a quick, scathing glare that Zexion shoots me before turning to follow after Vexen.

 

Lexaeus pats me fondly on the shoulder before ushering me out of the warehouse. He gave the little beetle a fond little rub on the back and we both watched as it folded up into a small, golden star. “We’re doing this to keep our citizens safe.” The gravity to his tone struck me. “I don’t care as much about your article as I do about you _understanding_. Is that clear?” 

 

“Crystal.” 

 

“Will you put a good spin on it for us?” There’s a small curve to his usually stern mouth and I can’t help but think he’s all too aware what I’m going to write about him and his compatriots. 

 

“Of course.” I answer with a brilliant smile, tucking a piece of rose colored hair behind my ear.

 

“Well then, it has been a pleasure, Mister...Marluxia, was it?” He murmurs, reaching out to take my hand.

 

“Correct.” I take his calloused hand in my own gloved one and shake politely. A gentleman’s agreement. “It truly has been a pleasure.” I say with a cheeky wink before turning on heel to retreat back to my chateau, thinking all the way, ‘ _this is going to be my best story yet’._


End file.
